Saving Brigit (8 page)

Back her hand went, two fingers disappearing into her pussy, setting a steady rhythm. Rashid matched with strokes of his own, spreading the cum on the crown of his shaft, over the tip, and down the length.

Elena’s clit, swollen and extended, seemed to throb before his eyes. The whimper from deep in her throat called to him.

He remembered the first time he heard that sound, and the second and third and every time they’d been with each other since. Twenty-two years of coupling should mean more than remembering a few sighs, shouldn’t it? Once he’d thought they might spend their lives together, but even in the heat of that fantasy, he’d known he didn’t love her, would never love her. Still, their history bound them in a way many married couples weren’t. They’d faced the enemy together and lived to celebrate. That wasn’t a bond lightly discarded.

Her breathing turned ragged and shallow. She was close to completion. He wished he could see her face, watch her eyes widen with the sensations carrying her body away. Instead, he stared at her fingers sinking into her body, thrusting, pushing, then swiftly rising to caress her clit, bathing it in cream. Her hips rose off the car hood, inviting her fingers to go deeper, and he saw her strain to reach depths no woman could find for herself. With a grunt of frustration, she set a fast pace along her slit, stretching to her tight anus, back to her clit.

“Ah, ah!” She sucked in a breath.

Rashid strode forward. He cast a huge shadow against the back of the garage, like a giant about to ravage the innocent laid out for his pleasure. His manhood
felt
like a giant’s, thick and pulsing, and aching for release in Elena’s body.

He pushed her hand out of the way and bent to press his mouth to her pussy. His tongue lapped at her free-flowing juices. She tasted of the mountains, of cold streams and unassailable peaks. And also of blood and grit and the sulphur of gunshot mixed with ubiquitous dust. Their past was forever entangled with their present, one of the reasons Rashid continued seeing Elena when they were both in town, even though their paths had separated. It was good to remember one’s youthful ideals, and if one could do so in such a pleasurable way, all the better.

He sucked her clit while teasing her rosebud. Panting, she cried out and tangled both hands in his hair, pulling him closer. He probed with his thumb, breaching her back door just a little. She cried out again.

He raised his head. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

A hoarse chuckle broke from her lips. “A little pain is good. It reminds us we’re alive. Come to me now.”

Rashid straightened and felt in his pocket for the condom he’d carried all night, knowing where they would end. He pushed his slacks below his hips and slid the latex on. Only a few times had he ever lain with her or any woman without protection. He hadn’t wanted to spread his seed indiscriminately, though after all these years, he could no longer picture himself with one woman for the rest of his life. He’d begun to despair of finding a time or place where he felt safe and secure enough to fall in love, marry, and begin a family.

The sense that he would always be alone was yet another reason why fucking Elena suited him. With her present profession, he knew she felt the same, that youthful dreams of sharing a life with someone special ceased to exist.

With those thoughts nagging at him, he thrust hard, letting the moisture from her orgasm ease his invasion.

“Yes, like that. Hard…harder.”

He stooped to wrap his arm under her knees and then spread them so that her legs extended out from her hips. The heat from the engine warmed his hands. The tiny vibrations from the running engine traveled up his arm and through his body.

Nothing impeded his assault now. He pulled out and drove in. Heavy-lidded, he watched his veined sex disappear inside her, her pussy lips conforming around him until it looked as though they joined at the groin. He fought the building tension, wanting her to come again, needing to feel her convulse around him. He withdrew, seeing his shaft emerge, wet and glistening.

He plunged into her again, bending to take her tit into his mouth. He bit down on her nipple hard enough to make her gasp, then soothed it with his tongue and bit again. His butt flexed and strained. His hips surged forward. His balls slapped her ass.

“Make me feel, Rashid. Make me feel again how it was.”

He hammered her into the vehicle. Perspiration shone on her body. Beneath his shirt, sweat trickled down his chest. He smelled her woman-scent. Breathing deeply, he took that part of her into his lungs. His cock glided in and out. He gritted his teeth in an effort not to come before she did, but he didn’t know how much longer he could hold back. She felt so damn good.

The musky scent of sex competed with motor oil and gasoline in the closed garage. Elena scraped the hood with each of his thrusts, her eyes closed, her mouth parted slightly. Her tits bounced with his pounding.

“Almost…almost…yes!”

He sank into her and held fast, lost in the sensation of her body pulling at his, as though nature made woman to suck the essence from man. It was the way of life. It was the way of a man and woman. Rashid let himself go.

* * * *

“Do you know why it’s better with you than with others?” she asked later. They’d secured the car and retired to her bedroom where they’d satisfied each other again.

“Dare I say my extraordinary sexual skills?”

She chuckled. “Besides that. It is because you know me. With you there’s no pretending. I can be myself.”

“Hmmm.” Absently, he caressed her breast. “I understand that. I was thinking about us earlier, about our history and how much has changed. Yet, here we are.”

Sighing, she arched into his hand. “Did you ever think we’d marry?”

“Each other? Early on I thought we might. Of course, it’s better we didn’t. We have so little in common, and we don’t love each other.”

Perhaps he imagined the slight stiffness in her. When he thought to ask about it, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I cannot let you stay the night, Rashid. I leave tomorrow morning and must be at the airport by eight.”

Her abruptness surprised him, but he recovered quickly. “I’ll call a cab,” he said, sitting up himself. He looked over his shoulder at her back as she slipped into a robe. “Are you all right? I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“Why should the truth upset me? It has simply been a difficult few weeks.” She entered the adjoining bathroom.

“Of course,” Rashid said to the closed door.

Shrugging at the unpredictable nature of women, he dressed, thinking about his own trip to the airport in a few hours.

Michael Jackson’s friend was arriving at nine fifty. For the life of him, he didn’t understand why she was coming all this way. What could she do in a strange city to find a missing girl except nag the bureaucrats at the embassy? With the information Michael had faxed him, he’d already found where the man had taken the woman here in Islamabad. By tomorrow sometime, he hoped to find out where the man himself was. He suspected the little shit would be back in the States, one more reason Michael’s friend, Mrs. Williams, would have been better off staying home.

If it wasn’t for his long association with Michael, he never would have taken on a task like babysitting an American woman, even for a couple of days.

Rashid heard water running in the shower. “Elena, I’m calling a cab now.”

“Yes, goodbye.”

That was it. Obviously, he’d said something to change her mood. She’d asked about marriage. Perhaps he was wrong and Elena hadn’t given up on the old dreams of love and family, though surely she was reaching the age where having children was out of the question. It hit him then. Elena was running out of time to have a family. And he’d just dashed her hopes that the two of them would make a couple.

He picked up the phone to call for a taxi, hoping like hell he had better instincts of how to deal with the American woman then he had had with Elena. But he had a very bad feeling about his upcoming meeting with Mrs. Thia Williams.

Thia stepped off the plane in Islamabad filled with seriousness of purpose and a thrill of adventure. She’d already begun to feel the numbness that came with realizing she’d met all the challenges of her chosen career. Though there were always problems associated with any business, Thia felt tired with accounting. Bored, she was ready to try something out of her realm of experience. A trip to Pakistan was certainly that. She hadn’t been there fifteen minutes and already strange sights and sounds assailed her.

So, while she half wished she could have talked with Derek about Brigit, she was also half-happy she couldn’t. Derek would have taken over the case and solved it before she had a chance to become involved. Now she’d prove herself and show Derek she could be trusted to be more than an ornament on his arm at parties.

At the baggage carousel, Thia looked for Michael’s friend. She checked the paper Michael had given her. He’d said a Rashid Salid would meet her, but she didn’t see anyone holding up a sign with her name on it. The bags hadn’t started down the mover yet, so she pulled out the file folder with the case data on it and read for the hundredth time what she knew about Brigit’s disappearance. Most of her information she needed to confirm with the embassy, but the phone number Brigit’s parents had was something she could try right now. She pulled out her cell phone and followed Michael’s instructions on dialing the number.

The strange ring sounded in her ear once, twice, and then a woman answered. Thia said the few words Michael had told her to use: Pakistani for “Hello” and “Do you speak English?”

A spate of verbiage followed and then a clunk as the woman put down the telephone receiver. Just before Thia thought she’d been forgotten, someone picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” said a hesitant voice. “Who is this?”

“My name is Thia Williams. I’m looking for Brigit Thatcher. Do you know her?”

No? That was it? No questions, no comments? “How about another friend, Omar?”

Thia was met with silence, and then, “Omar not here.”

“When will he be back?”

Ha! No one thought she’d find anything out on her own, yet she’d discovered Omar was still in Pakistan. She’d already made progress, and she hadn’t been in Pakistan half an hour.

“I’m staying at the Marriott here in Islamabad. Will you ask Omar to call Thia Williams as soon as possible?”

“I ask. Goodbye.” The woman hung up, leaving Thia with dead air.

“Well, goodbye to you, too.” She dropped the cell back in her purse. When she looked up, she saw a gorgeous man watching her from a few yards away. He was well-built, with olive skin and thick lashes. He dressed like a tourist with loose slacks and untucked shirt, but had a cloth wrapped around his head like pictures of Middle Eastern men she’d seen on the news.

She broke eye contact and sent a quick glance around the area, looking for someone holding a sign with her name. No one but the dark-skinned man seemed to be paying her any attention. Surreptitiously, she cast him another glimpse. He was gone.

The luggage ramp started up. Thia stepped closer to the carousel. Two or three minutes later, her suitcase came down the shoot. Thia reached for it, but a dark hand slid around her and plucked it off the ramp as though it weighed nothing. She whirled, trying to grab her bag at the same time. Her mouth fell open as she recognized the same man who had been watching her earlier. She looked up into irises of black. He wore no smile or gave a word of welcome.

“Mrs. Williams, I’m Rashid Salid. Michael Jackson asked me to be your guide during your time in Islamabad.” With his free hand, he took her elbow and steered her toward the doors.

“Oh.” She struggled to keep up. “I thought you’d let me know you were here.”

The man had a stride Derek would appreciate. They burst out the door. He cast a quick look both ways and hurried her across the throughway toward a parking building. Horns blared and tires squealed, but nothing slowed him.

“Please. I’m having a hard time keeping up.”

“Sorry.” But his pace didn’t abate. “I didn’t stand around advertising I was waiting for you because I wanted to see how people behaved around you. It’s a habit to be aware of not only the person I’m with but those around her.” His English was near flawless, his accent light, almost musical.

“You can’t think anyone would be following
me
.”

“Why not? You’re here because an American woman was kidnapped. In this part of the world, it’s better to be wary of your surroundings.”

Thia felt as though he’d slapped her. She’d come here for July and her niece, but hadn’t given any consideration that she might be in any danger herself. Instead of worrying her, his words added an extra layer of excitement. After all, she wasn’t here alone. Michael had ensured she had a companion anyone would hesitate to confront. The man was tall and broad-shouldered and moved with the confidence of someone who knew he could take care of himself.

She might have commented further if she could talk and maintain a sprint, so she decided to hold off any more questions.

He stopped behind a battered, two-door compact with a nondescript, light color. In almost one movement, he opened the trunk, placed her suitcase inside, and slammed the lid. “Go ahead and get in,” he said.

After watching to be sure no one followed her and then rushing to the parking building at the speed of an eagle chasing a field mouse, he hadn’t even locked the door?

“It’s better to have a car unlocked if you think you might be in a hurry to leave,” he explained as though reading her mind.

Derek was a great detective, and he did lots of work for the government, but he had never acted so clandestine. Thia had no doubt he paid as much attention to their surroundings and her safety as this man Rashid, but he made his actions invisible.

The drive into town was accomplished at a normal speed, which is to say, either at a snail’s pace or that of an F-15, depending on traffic.

“Mrs. Williams—“

“Thia, please.”

“Okay, Thia, whom did you call at the airport, if you do not mind my asking?”